


Wanting Something More

by perseajackson



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Depression, Found Family, Lots of self doubt, Other, all original characters - Freeform, later chapters cover o66, takes place on an original planet/moon, this begins about six-ish months before ROTS, this is mostly a story about a clone defecting and finding his own path
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25939939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perseajackson/pseuds/perseajackson
Summary: Roswell is one of four survivors from the massacre that was the Battle of Maaton. While his brothers opted to return to the Republic to continue serving in the GAR, Roswell convinced them to tell the Republic he was dead. He didn't want to kill anymore. He didn't want to be a slave to this endless war. He wanted to live his life forhimself.So he started walking.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 1
Collections: Mar'eyi Narser





	1. The Kindalas

**Author's Note:**

> quick disclaimer! every character in this is an oc, and the moon this takes place on is called Maaton (MAH-tahn). it's a made up moon in some system that i created for my own purposes. Roswell's battalion is called the 303rd, and it's all made up, specifically a battalion i made to throw all my clone ocs into LMAO
> 
> the heart of this story is about found family and finding your own path, your own purpose.
> 
> *in this first chapter, roswell has some major injuries that are described kinda vaguely as he's being treated for his wounds. it's nothing grotesque, no body horror, no massive mortal wounds or anything, but it's described a bit as he's getting treated for his wounds (since he just came from a devastating battle), so i just wanted to put this warning here real quick!!! it isn't a long scene, and it takes place in the kitchen, which i say so you'll know when it's coming up (even though it's obvious in the context!)

Roswell’s body ached. The entire left side of his body still stung, despite the fact that it’d been over a month. He’d insisted Keller and Pyrite receive more of the medical treatment, they’d both been far worse off than he, although now he was realizing just how bad his injuries still were. His body was weak, his light clothes rubbed against his burned and scabbed body enough to make his skin painfully itchy. His leg hurt like hell, and he was pretty sure he was still a little concussed. 

But he walked onward.

If he was going to die here, at least it would be on his own terms. He’d decided he wasn’t afraid to die anymore, not really. The way he saw it, he died on that battlefield, and his ghost was too stubborn to leave his body behind. While the others went back to their old lives as pawns so easily discarded by the Republic, he was moving on.

Alone.

Because his  _ brothers _ had chosen to go back. Keller had chosen to go back. He’d chosen the Republic over Roswell, and Roswell didn’t know who to be angrier at: Keller, for clearly not caring about him  _ enough _ , or himself for choosing to abandon the Republic  _ and _ Keller all at the same time. He knew that he was abandoning Keller just as much as Keller was abandoning him. He just didn’t understand how Keller could  _ go back _ . He found himself wishing he could.

He found himself trudging along the dirt road under the lazy sunset, full of hatred for himself and anger at the Republic and anger at his brothers and absolutely no energy to do anything about any of it other than to take another step forward. Then another and another. He was pretty sure he’d been walking for a few days, only breaking for sleep once or twice, and even then, he had no idea how much time had passed. He could check the datapad in his bag for the date and time, but why bother? He didn’t have anyone expecting him, nowhere to be or go.

And then, something triggered the thought equally as painful as the thoughts revolving Keller- he was turning his back on Exii too.

Emotion made his throat burn. How could he have let them go back without him? How could he have let them go back to tell everyone he was dead? What if Exii had woken up? What would she think if she thought he was dead? Would she know he’d survived through the Force somehow? Should he have asked Keller to tell her he was alive but no one else? He’d left her that note- that  _ kriffing  _ note- and he’d meant every word of it at the time. He’d wanted them to talk. He’d… he’d wanted to tell her… he wanted  _ more  _ out of life, and he wanted it with  _ her _ . He’d needed her to know… He wasn’t even sure how to describe the feelings he felt for her, but he’d needed her to know he felt things that made him feel warm and safe and hopeful and happy. She was the only person who ever made him feel that way. He’d heard rumours of other clones who’d fallen in love with their generals or commanders- was this what  _ love _ felt like? He didn’t even know what to make of it.

He closed his eyes as he walked, imagining her hands on his face, her lips against his hands. He could see the emotion and desperation in her eyes as she asked him to leave the temple. He saw her battered and burned body in the bacta tank. He felt the anger rising in him again that he’d felt that same day, the anger of knowing he hadn’t protected her and others had hurt her so badly.

He almost tripped, and he grunted as he managed to keep his balance. Maybe Keller wouldn’t have to lie to Exii after all. Maybe he’d die out here, alone and on this random kriffing dirt road on some backwater moon they’d only needed to take so to finally snuff out the Seppies in this system. Maybe he’d die, and Exii would only know truth. Maybe he’d die because he deserved it for abandoning his brothers, the Republic, and Exii. He’d made a show about wanting to live his own life for himself and wanting more for his life, but honestly, Roswell couldn’t have given two kriffs if he died right here and now. Maybe he should just stop and let himself die. Maybe that’s what he deserved, to kick the can all alone on the planet he’d betrayed everything he’d ever known on.

"Can I help you with something?" a voice called out, and Roswell was so surprised, he actually stopped and looked up at the source of the voice. 

A human man with tanned skin and salt and pepper hair pulled back in a short ponytail stared at him from atop some farming machine. Roswell was a little confused until he realized he stood between a couple of farm fields, noticing the dirt path he'd been walking had turned into the walkways between farm plots at some point. 

The man, who appeared to be a bit older, leaned against some farming tool and waved a little at Roswell. "You understand Basic?" he called out. 

"Yes. Sorry," Roswell said, trying to match the man's volume without much success. His voice was painfully hoarse. He lifted a hand to wave an apology. "Didn't realize I was on your property." He started off back towards where he hoped some main road would be.

"Hang on a second!" the man called, and Roswell stopped again. He shouldered his bag and turned to look back just in time to watch the man get off his equipment and start making his way over to Roswell. "You don't look too good, pal. What are you doing out here trudging along on your lonesome?"

Roswell opened his mouth to answer, but realized,  _ oh yeah,  _ he had no idea. "Just trudging along, I guess," he finally said, no energy to offer any other details.

The man looked Roswell over skeptically. He had soft, warm brown eyes, and up close, Roswell could see the light stubble across his jaw. He wore a loose navy shirt under a beige tunic that stuck out of his dark pants. He had a belt around his hips that had what appeared to be some mechanical tools attached to it. Maybe he'd been repairing the equipment. 

"You going anywhere specific?" he asked, and Roswell hesitated before shaking his head. The farmer put his hands on his hips and nodded his head off behind him towards a farmhouse. "Then how 'bout you come sit for a bit. No offense, kid, but you look pretty worse for wear."

Was… did this man just invite Roswell into his home? Roswell blinked a few times and glanced at the farmhouse. It was two stories tall, all made of white wood with dark green accents, had a neat wraparound porch, and a nice little garden out front.

"I… I'm alright, sir, thank you, though-" Roswell started awkwardly, unsure of what to make of the kindness.

"Oh, are you? Son, when was the last time you looked in a mirror? Or the last time you ate or drank anything?" the man said, raising an eyebrow. 

Roswell stared at him, stunned and completely speechless. The man chuckled and shook his head before reaching over and gently patting Roswell’s right shoulder. "C'mon, you think you can make it to the house?" Roswell nodded once, still completely surprised by what was happening, and when the man gave his shoulder a little tug, he felt his legs respond and start following the guy's lead as they walked towards the farmhouse.

"Where're you from, son? What brought you out here? And if you don't mind my asking, what the hell chewed you up and spit you out?" the farmer asked, opening the door to his house and gesturing Roswell inside.

Roswell stepped into a living room. He'd never seen anything like it before. It was simple, very basic technology and machines here and there, and very tidy. There were several bookshelves full of books and datapads lining the walls, various cabinets with trinkets and musical instruments against the far wall from the door, a couch and a love seat in the middle of the room, and simple, floral-themed decorations littered through the space. To the far left was a staircase and a hallway to the back of the house, and to the right was a small dining area and a doorway that appeared to lead into a kitchen. 

Roswell had never been in such a… casual? comfortable?  _ homey _ space before…

"I'm surprised you don't recognize me," Roswell admitted, and said in response to the man's confused expression, "I'm a clone, sir. Part of the Grand Army of the Republic."  _ Or, I was, _ he thought bitterly.

"A clone?" the man said, taken aback. "What's the Republic doing all the way out here?"

"My company got sent here to snuff out the last of the Seppies's forces from your system. Their stronghold on Maaton was the last thing giving them presence here," Roswell explained. He hesitated, shifting his weight on his feet a little. He didn't really want to verbalize specifically how he'd come to happen upon the guy's farm, but the next words out of his mouth seemed unable to be held back any longer. "It was a massacre. We took out all the droids, but it cost the lives of almost every single clone," he added bitterly, keeping his eyes to the ground. 

"I… see," the man said slowly, closing the door behind himself. He seemed to hesitate, then asked tentatively, "Did you… just come from that battle?"

"Evan? Who are you talking to?" a gentle, feminine voice called from the back of the house. Roswell looked up as a small, pretty Pantoran woman, around the same age as the man, walked into the room. Her lavender hair was pulled back in a loose, low bun with clips holding back flyaway hairs. She, like her husband, had the wrinkles in the corners of her eyes from smiling, and her almond-shaped, gold eyes widened as she noticed Roswell. "Oh, my-" she said with surprise, her expression reflecting how startled she sounded. If he'd had the energy, Roswell might have laughed at her reaction to his appearance.

Roswell felt his face heat up, and he quickly looked at the man, Evan, who had a mix of concern and amusement on his face as he looked at his wife. He looked back to Roswell and said, "What's your name, lad?"

He hesitated. Should he give his number? No, that  _ wasn't _ his name. Should he add in his title? No, he supposed he'd forfeited the right to using it weeks ago. He shifted on his feet again. "Roswell," he said finally. 

Evan nodded once and gestured to him before turning back to his wife, who had entered the room now and was approaching the men. "Found Roswell here aimlessly wandering near the eastern plots, and I invited him in. Seemed like he could do with a rest."

"It seems like he could do with an infirmary!" she exclaimed as she stepped up in front of Roswell and looked him over. He became suddenly very aware of the minimal armour he wore and the light fitted top and pants he'd received from the doctor back in Pavroe. He knew he was dirty and dusty and sweaty, and he was pretty sure some of his wounds had reopened and bled again at some point. Basically, he knew he looked like a karking  _ mess. _

The woman reached up and gently touched his chin as she looked him over. She wasn't much taller than Exii. Her skin was a few shades lighter than Exii's. Her touch was painfully, familiarly gentle. "What in the stars happened to you?!" she asked, reaching over and pressing her hand to his left arm as she started to adjust him to look him over. Pain jolted up his arm, and he flinched hard, hissing a little and accidentally ripping his arm away from her. He tried to give her an apologetic expression, but he was so exhausted and now aware of the pain of some of his injuries that he was sure a grimace was likely stuck to his face. Her expression turned more worrisome, and she looked at her husband.

"Kirra, Roswell's part of the Grand Army of the Republic. I believe he's just come from… what he described as a  _ massacre _ ," Evan said slowly, seemingly unsure of how to describe the situation. 

Roswell felt such a surge of mixed emotions at these strangers knowing so much about himself, panic rising to the forefront of his mind first. He needed to leave. He didn't know these people. He'd already said too much-

"A  _ what?!"  _ Kirra snapped, whipping her head back up to Roswell for a moment before quickly beginning to scan his body, starting with his left arm. "You're hurt? How badly? Where are you injured? Anything life threatening? How long ago-"

"I- I really- I should leave, actually," Roswell stammered, lifting his hands apologetically and starting to step back towards the door. He'd made a mistake. He shouldn't have let himself get involved with these two strangers for even the brief amount of time that he had. He didn't understand why this woman, Kirra, was so concerned about his wellbeing. Was she just being nice? She was honestly freaking him out a little.

"Dove, you're scaring the boy! Bring it in!" Evan said with one hand on his hip and the other gesturing at Kirra. He sighed and looked at Roswell, extending a hand towards him in a gesture for Roswell to stop. "Son, despite my wife's abrasive attitude, we'd really like to help you, if you'll let us. I really don't feel right about just letting you go back out there walking to nowhere without insisting first you just… sit down for a spell and let us at least let you clean yourself up," he said kindly, and Roswell could see the sincerity in his eyes.

"I- I… I really can't just impose-" Roswell started to say, giving a nervous look between the couple.

"It's not imposing when someone's offering first, Roswell," Evan pointed out with a raised eyebrow. "Besides, if you've got nowhere to go, what've you got to lose?"

Roswell's back straightened as he realized that Evan was absolutely right. He supposed he just wanted to leave so he could go die somewhere and be done with the consequences of his crime against his brothers and the Republic. It was what he deserved. He didn't deserve… this…  _ kindness _ these strangers were trying to offer him.

And yet, he heard himself say, with a tired glance between the pair of them, "I… guess I can't really argue with that…"

He didn't understand why Evan looked relieved and why Kirra straightened up and clasped her hands together in front of her the way she did with a determined look in her eyes.

"Good. That's a good man," Evan said with a nod, and he approached Roswell, placing his fingers gingerly on his right shoulder. "C'mon, then, we'll get you into the kitchen and get some food and drink in you. When was the last time you ate anything?"

Roswell debated being honest or not, but he supposed Evan's wise words pointing out he really had nothing to lose should guide his actions while he was here. There seemed to be no point wasting energy he didn't have arguing with these people.

"Three days," he said with an exhale, feeling more tired by the concern that touched Evan's features. 

"Will you let me take a look at your injuries? I'm really not bad with medicines," Kirra said, seemingly unable to hold her worry back any longer.

After a hesitation, he looked at her and said, "They're worse than whatever you think they could be. I would prefer you… didn't see them, but if… if it'll make you feel better to take a look, I honestly don't have it in me to argue anymore."

Kirra gave him a firm nod with a concerned yet determined expression and pointed to her husband. "Get him sat down. I'll be right there."

Five minutes later found Roswell sitting in a quaint and very decent sized kitchen. The walls were a soft orange, and the decorations on the walls seemed like they were likely amusing or cute to those who understood whatever they referenced. Maybe they were funny in general, and Roswell simply didn't have the brainpower to process and understand them. He noticed the simple but nice equipment and technology around the countertops, and he tried not to completely guzzle down the glasses of water he kept pouring himself from the pitcher Evan had sat with him. He knew drinking and eating too fast would make himself sick, but it was a little hard to have self control. It was easy to forget how thirsty he was when he'd been pushing the thirst to the back of his mind for so long. He briefly thought back to the kid he'd given the rest of his rations and water too, and decided he still didn't regret it. The kid deserved more of a chance than he did.

"A little slower, lad," Evan said, and Roswell nodded, pushing the pitcher a bit away from him to alleviate some of the temptation. The farmer gave him a weary look, and turned from the counter, placing a plate with a moderate portion of very good looking pasta and a bread roll on it in front of Roswell. "I'm sure it's not as much as you're hungry for, but you'll need to take it a little slowly."

"I understand. And this is more than enough," Roswell assured him. "Thank you."

Evan nodded and rapped his knuckles against the table once. "I've gotta go finish up my plot for the evening before it gets dark. You eat that, mind your speed, and stay here for Kirra, understand?" he said in a firm but gentle tone, looking Roswell seriously in the eye.

"Yes, sir," Roswell said with a nod, and he picked up the fork on the plate. "I understand." Evan nodded and took his leave, and Roswell was grateful to be alone for a few minutes. He looked down at the food before him. It had been so long since he'd had a real meal, even  _ before _ the mess in Maaton City… He found himself taking a tentative bite of the bread, testing his stomach, and after he felt confident enough that he wouldn't throw everything up as soon as he finished eating, he dug in, trying his hardest to be mindful of how he shoveled the pasta down his throat but honestly having trouble keeping track of his speed.

"How's the food?" Kirra's voice asked as she entered the kitchen. 

Roswell swallowed the last bite and carefully set the fork back onto the plate. "This is honestly the best food I've had in months," he said with a small nod. "It's… very gracious of you to feed me at all. Thank you."

"That's my Evan, best chef on this side of the galaxy," Kirra said with a small smile, sitting in the chair to Roswell's left and setting a medical kit on the table before taking his dishes and moving them out of the way. "And please, it's really our pleasure, Roswell." She hesitated before meeting his eyes and saying, "Is it still alright for me to take a look at your wounds?"

"I… I really don't know if there's anything you can do," he said uncomfortably, thinking about how raw his skin felt beneath his clothes. He yearned for a shower, or just to be rid of what he was wearing. He tried to stop thinking about it all again. He awkwardly shifted his gaze to his hands on the table before him. "My brother and I got caught by an exploding tank. It's ruined a lot of this side of my body," he said, loosely gesturing to his left arm and side of his torso with his right hand. "We managed to find a doctor in a little town called Pavroe. He did what he could, but… An explosion's an explosion." 

He shrugged a little, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable to Kirra. He awkwardly looked at her, seeing a mix of concern and worry with a degree of firmness he hadn't expected. He was uncomfortable letting her waste their medical supplies, but he was just too exhausted and nervous about how he appeared to these nice people to try to fight her.

"I understand, Roswell. Alright, armour off, then, yes?" she said with a curt nod. Roswell sighed and began to oblige, but found very quickly that he was unable to remove much of anything past his shoulder guards. Kirra quickly and quietly jumped in to help, and he didn't protest, just let her take over and moving as she silently directed him. The worst part was removing his borrowed shirt. His wounds that had reopened at some point had scabbed over again and stuck to the fabric, and detaching the shirt from his skin was a lot more painful than he'd been anticipating. By the time they got it off, he was breathing hard from holding his breath so often to force himself to hold in as many verbal responses to the pain as possible. 

"Oh, honey," Kirra said quietly when she finally saw the extent of his upper-body injuries. He already knew they were bad, and he tried to keep his eyes forward so he wouldn't accidentally see his own wounds and scarring. He quickly pushed thoughts of Keller to the back of his head. "That doctor must not have been worth his grain. How long ago was the battle?"

"It was about a month ago. And the doctor did his best. I had him use most of his supplies and energy on my brother, who was even worse off than me," Roswell said, wincing as Kirra very gingerly trailed her fingers across his scorched shoulder. "He removed all the shrapnel and did what he could for the cuts and burns. Stabilizing me was all I asked him to do."

Kirra hummed and gently put her hand on his cheek, caressing his jaw with her thumb and then nodding. "I've got some bacta and irritation salves to help with these burns. And I can take care of these cuts that keep opening and scabbing. How about your lower half, hm?"

"No, ma'am. Nothing to be done about all the bruising and minor cuts on my legs and such. This… is the worst of it," he said tiredly, weakly gesturing to his torso.

"Then sit tight, Roswell. I'll be as gentle as possible," she assured him, giving him a small smile and gently smoothing his hair back.

Despite how gentle Kirra was obviously trying to be, every time she touched his skin with any amount of pressure, Roswell had to fight back a grunt or groan of pain. He had hoped his wounds would've started healing on their own, but apparently trudging through meadows and farmland under unfamiliar suns with relatively fresh wounds that had received only minimal medical treatment was not beneficial for his recovery, and they seemed to have just gotten a bit worse. Kirra said nothing was infected, and he supposed that was only by some miracle he'd never understand.

Evan returned at some point and tried to be helpful to his wife until she shooed him away and made a joke about his bedside manner. 

"Were you the only survivor of this?" Evan asked him, sitting down and handing Roswell a glass of water as Kirra was carefully stitching up one of the cuts that seemed it needed help staying closed. 

Roswell took a careful sip before exhaling and dragging his eyes up to Evan. "No," he said, debating on if he should share more. Something in him decided away the last shred of hesitancy, decided to fully accept that he had nothing left to lose. If these people kicked him out after learning the truth, it was what he deserved anyway. "Three other clones survived. We were the only ones. We made our way to Pavroe, it was the first place we happened upon trying to get away from Maaton City. We were able to get in contact with the Republic again after a few weeks, and I decided not to go back," he admitted, dropping his eyes to the tabletop and trying to suppress a flinch from Kirra's work. He exhaled slowly. 

"We're bred knowing our only purpose is to serve the Republic, to fight for democracy and all that, and we grow up knowing we're nothing more than pawns meant to die for our cause… But… To survive a massacre and have nobody come looking for you…" He clenches his fists and tried to stay still, forcing himself to keep breathing. It was so hard to stay composed. He was so tired. He was still so emotionally hurt and drained. He just wanted to close his eyes and never wake up.

"I wanted something more. I wanted charge over my own life. So I figured, if I survived being abandoned by the Republic like I did, then if I was meant to die, it was gonna be on  _ my _ terms," he said firmly, and he wrapped his hands around his glass to keep them from trembling. He felt Kirra finish a stitch. "So I deserted. I abandoned my brothers and the Republic, and they went back to fulfil their duty. And I just started walking." He hesitated before shaking his head a little, though keeping his eyes down. "Sorry, sir. That's entirely more than you asked for. But I guess you should know the type of man you're showing so much kindness to."

"And what type of man is that?" Evan asked evenly. Roswell still couldn't bring himself to look up and meet the man's eyes. He just didn't have the energy.

"A coward. A traitor. A man who betrayed his family and his duty," Roswell said easily.

Kirra had begun very carefully stitching up another wound. "It sounds to me like you're a man who just wants to live his own life the way he decides," she said gently. One of her hands reached up and brushed a tear off his cheek he hadn't even realized was there. "There's nothing cowardly about that, Roswell."

"It sounds like… the Republic betrayed  _ you _ ," Evan said slowly, and Roswell finally let himself look up at the man's face. Evan gave him a serious look, though there was no anger or pity in his bright, brown eyes. He had an expression of understanding that Roswell wasn't expecting. "There's no shame in taking your life into your own hands, Roswell."

"It's not supposed to be  _ my _ life to make decisions like that about," Roswell tried to explain. He sighed with frustration and dropped his head again as he felt another tear slip down his face. He mustered enough strength to wipe it away but sighed again and let his eyes fall shut. "It's impossible to understand if you weren't bred that way."

"That may be true, but maybe the way you were raised wasn't completely right either," Evan said evenly. Roswell couldn't bring himself to respond. His shoulders slumped a little as he let out a deep sigh. He didn't know how to verbalize that he'd already spent dangerous time thinking about how the clones had been fed some amount of lies by the Kaminoans. He couldn't bring himself to think about it any more at the moment.

After a quiet minute, Kirra finished her stitching and carefully applied a small amount of bacta to the cuts, causing him to stiffen again and bite his tongue so hard he was surprised it didn't bleed. 

"There, those should do nicely for now," Kirra told him gently, and he felt her hand caress his back, between his shoulder blades and away from the burns.

Roswell started to get up with his hands against the table top. "I should be going then," he said, grunting quietly in pain as his muscles and skin screamed at him for the movement.

"Going?" Kirra said, sounding a little shocked. "Where in the stars do you think you'll be  _ going?" _

"You've both been more kind to me than I deserve," he said, forcing himself to stand up straight, though it took him a few breaths to manage out his next words. "I don't feel right imposing any more than I already have."

"Tell you what, son," Evan said, and Roswell looked over at the man. He sat leaned back in the chair with his arms crossed and an unimpressed expression on his face. He inclined his head a little and pointed towards the living room. "You make it past the couch, and we won't argue. Otherwise, you set yourself down on the couch and rest."

Roswell's mouth almost fell open from surprise. His expression must have reflected as much, because an amused smirk made its way to Evan's lips. Roswell turned to face the doorway between the kitchen and living room and considered his options. If he did make it out the front door. he was pretty sure he wouldn't make it off their property before he passed out, and judging by the way Evan and Kirra acted towards him now, he was fairly sure they'd find a way to drag him back into the house to rest anyways. With that logic, he may as well save them the labor and just resign himself to their couch now.

Still, it didn't feel right. He didn't deserve any of this generosity. He felt selfish even allowing them to provide what care they had for him so far. He was ready to accept the consequences of his actions. He deserved to die stubbornly, free from the GAR, and completely alone. He'd chosen the cut himself off from his family, from Keller, from Javi, from Exii. He didn't deserve to allow anyone else back into his life, especially not anyone showing him such kindness after knowing what he'd done. 

His body, however, wouldn't give up as easily as his mental resolve had, and was screaming at him to please let it rest and recuperate. He could already feel the gentle sting of bacta beginning to soothe some of his wounds. And he was  _ so tired _ …

He sighed and walked through the doorway, his legs weighing more like lead than he recalled before he'd sat down for a stint at the kitchen table. He was pretty sure he  _ could _ make it to the front door, and probably even down the steps of the house… And yet, for some reason, he found his body moving towards the couch, siting down on the side closest to the arm and propping his head up on his arm with a defeated sigh. He looked out the windows as the suns were almost finished setting over the horizon, deciding that Maaton did have a pretty nice sunset before he passed out.


	2. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roswell had to beg the Kindalas to let him be helpful. He had to explain that despite his injuries, he'd spent three full days sleeping on and off and he desperately needed to do something useful.

Roswell had to beg the Kindalas to let him be helpful. He had to explain that despite his injuries, he'd spent three full days sleeping on and off and he desperately needed to do something useful. 

So they had him cleaning the house and feeding what few livestock they had. It was all medial tasks that he could've gotten done in two hours tops had he been at one-hundred-percent. Unfortunately, he was more at fifteen- or twenty-percent and thus had to keep taking breaks due to dizziness and general soreness. Kirra scolded him about over-exerting himself as well as potentially popping her stitches, so he tried to refrain from working as hard as he could, like he'd been taught his whole life, and keeping conscious of the pace he worked at to catch himself so he wouldn't pass out for eleven hours again, like he had his first night with the farmers. 

The way he saw it, the only reason he was still sticking around was because he wasn't sure he had enough energy to make it off their property and because he desperately needed to feel like he was repaying them for their kindness. Still, the more he slept on their couch and ate their food and used their shower and wore their clothes, the more indebted to them he became. So he tried to help and he tried to heal, all the while trying to ignore his self loathing and any thoughts of Keller, Javi, Exii, Curne'ali, or any of his brothers he missed. 

He examined his wounds in the mirror after his cold shower, and sighed. Kirra's stitches were holding up well, and the itching and constant residual pain had quelled to a manageable level. He'd used some of their medical supplies to treat several cuts and burns on his hips and legs, but overall, objectively and physically speaking, he was doing pretty good. All things considered, at least.

Three days of almost nonstop walking had given him blisters on his feet that some medical attention was already healing pretty quickly, though that in combination with his general fatigue only allowed him an hour on his feet max before he had to sit and rest a while. 

During the days, Evan worked in their fields and with their livestock while Kirra taught music lessons to neighboring kids and kids from the town out in front of the farmhouse. Roswell listened to the faint sounds of children laughing, talking, and playing among various levels of skillful music-playing as he cleaned up the house and rested on the couch. He was curious enough to consider going to a window and watching, but he felt too guilty about squatting at their home to just stand around watching Kirra work.

In the evenings, Kirra would finish her lessons and help her husband finish the field work before they'd come in and Evan would begin dinner. Roswell admitted he wished he could at least help with dinner, but he'd never learned anything about cooking before. Kirra had laughed and nudged his arm and claimed that Evan was such a stickler in the kitchen, Roswell was better off just assisting with cleanup duty instead, to which Evan had responded dramatically, "The kitchen is my  _ haven _ , woman. I can't have you burning mealgrain and mixing custards willy-nilly!"

"That was  _ one time _ ," Kirra had defended with a loving smile. "Well, one time  _ each _ ."

Their conversations together mostly revolved around Roswell asking about the planet and their farm. He hadn't known there were many food farmers in this sector, much less on this planet, but apparently Trelov was a hub in the system for food trade and farming, which Roswell took with a grain of salt considering the system wasn't especially populated to begin with.

After Roswell regained enough strength to climb up the stairs inside the house, Kirra had moved him into a spare room on the second floor. Kirra suggested he keep the couch a while more after watching him embarrassingly struggle with trembling limbs to the top of the stairs, but he insisted that the effort of climbing them each day would help him build his stamina and muscle back up. He didn't think she really believed him, but she let it rest. 

Kirra also insisted on checking his recovering wounds at least once a day, enough that it became part of their routine: during lunchtime when she would break from her lessons, she'd sit Roswell down in the kitchen and look over his burns and her stitches. He would tell her honestly the degree of pain he was in and then how manageable it was. Most days, she allowed him to continue assisting around the house and thank him for taking breaks as much as he did. She invited him to come outside during her lessons every now and then, but Roswell declined each time, saying he wasn't comfortable being around other people right now. He couldn't explain why… He assumed it had something to do with his still-simmering anger at himself somehow, but he tried not to get into it in his head too much.

The lowest day came two weeks into his stay with the Kindalas. He'd had violent nightmares for four days in a row, and finally, he started packing his weapons he'd arrived with back up into a rucksack with what few armour pieces he had left.

"I've overstayed my welcome. I really can't be a burden on you anymore," he insisted when Evan and Kirra found him furiously trying to pull himself together in his borrowed room one morning. 

"Son, you're welcome here as long as you need," Evan insisted. "You've been helping us around the house as much as you can, and we enjoy your company. You're not-"

"I'm not doing enough! I haven't been doing enough to repay you for the amount of kindness you've shown me that I don't even  _ deserve! _ " he snapped, dropping the shoulder guard in his hand onto the bed and spinning to face them. "I don't deserve the way you've treated me. I don't deserve to be resting and recovering in your farmhouse after I- because I made the decision to leave and be on my own- I don't-"

"So what do you think you deserve then, huh? To go back out on the dirt roads and walk until you die in a ditch somewhere?" Evan snapped back, stepping into the room. He was about an inch shorter than Roswell, but his presence made him seem bigger in this moment. 

Roswell stared at him, feeling a mix of shock at the even-tempered man's tone and words. He didn't sound angry, but his tone left Roswell feeling the shame of a rookie who'd spoken out of turn to his commanding officer. He hesitated, closing his mouth and staring between Evan and Kirra before dropping his eyes to the floor. "That's what I deserve. I chose to be on my own. If the consequences of my actions mean I end up dead in a ditch then good riddance," he finally said in a lower voice. 

"You listen to me, Roswell," Kirra said suddenly, and he reluctantly looked up to see her face as she began to storm towards him until she was only half a meter away. Her usual soft voice sounded like it was as loud as it was going to get, and it honestly startled him a little to hear her raise her voice this way. She gave him a firm, almost angry expression, and she pointed up at him with her other hand on her waist. "You chose to take your life into your own hands. You wanted a life free from the Republic's Army, free from the Jedi and Kaminoans telling you you were only born to fight and die for the Republic! there is nothing-  _ nothing _ \- cowardly or despicable or treacherous about that!"

"But I shouldn't-" Roswell started to say, beginning to gesture, until Kirra's finger poked him hard in the sternum, and she stared up at him from their eight-inch height difference and suddenly made him feel like he was a little cadet again. 

"Ah, ah!!" she said in the same voice, effectively cutting him off. "You are a living, breathing man who deserves to make his own choices about his life! You deserve to be able to decide if you want more from the life you've been given! You do not _belong_ to anyone except for yourself! I don't give a damn what those Kaminoans tried to program you to think, _I'm_ _telling you_ that you were left for dead and decided to take your second chance and make your own life with it!" 

Roswell could barely breathe as he stared down at Kirra with wide eyes and sweat on his neck and tears brimming in his eyes. Her anger subsided to mostly firmness, and she placed her hands on either side of his face and brought his head down a few inches towards her so she didn't have to reach so far.

"You have a kind soul, Roswell. You deserve to make your life what you want with it. You do  _ not _ deserve to die in a ditch for choosing your own path, even though the consequences of your decision may still hurt and feel raw," she explained, her voice miraculously almost back to its usual level. He felt her thumbs caress his cheeks as he stared into her warm, golden eyes, assuming she was brushing away the tears that had finally made their way down his cheeks. "You don't know what to do with yourself yet, and that is okay. You're injured, traumatized, and full of mixed emotions. We are telling you that you are welcome to stay with us until you know what  _ you _ want your path to  _ be. _ You are  _ not _ a burden, and you are doing all that you can. To be able to live your own life means that you  _ must _ give yourself time to heal, sweetheart. And there is  _ nothing _ cowardly about that."

He just stared at her, completely dumbfounded. He heard a few very quiet stutters escape his lips, but he… he had absolutely no idea what to say. Kirra sighed and caressed his cheeks again before gently wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him the rest of the way down towards her and into a hug. Roswell's hands hovered out to his sides a little, and he looked up at Evan, feeling completely at a loss for what to do. The man gave him a small, warm smile and stepped over, gently smoothing back Roswell's hair before wrapping his arms around both Roswell and his wife.

Sandwiched between these two kind strangers who were hugging him, comforting him, trying to  _ save _ him… Roswell had never felt more lost before in his entire life. Kirra mumbled something against his shoulder as she gently rubbed his back, and something in him finally broke. He choked on a small sob and wrapped his arms around Kirra, pressing his face against her shoulder, and he felt both of them tighten their holds on him. 

He didn't know how to feel anymore. He still felt miserable, he still couldn't stand himself, and he just didn't understand why the Kindalas were treating him so lovingly and respectfully. He didn't understand, but he didn't have the mental capacity to hold back the flood of emotions he'd been hastily bottling away for the last few weeks. He couldn't stand it anymore. So he let them hug him, and he cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> roswell: parents acquired!

**Author's Note:**

> roswell is actually my PC for a star wars TTRPG game i play with some friends!!! i'm incredibly excessive so i'm basically writing short stories to flush out his backstory, and this is part of it!! the game takes place 7 years post ROTS so ive got lots of time to fill uwu
> 
> here's his character sheet if you want to see a lil pic of him and stuff!! art is by moi: https://swsheets.com/c/pzj1o8qah-roswell-kindala
> 
> you can find a bit more info about roswell's battalion and his relationship with exii by reading "Got Some Things I Want to Say" which is the other work in this collection!! that takes place around the same time this fic starts, give or take a day.


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